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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, August 6, 2012, 09:04 AM
Dental practices should offer customer rewards cards. I’m quite sure I - or my sons - have earned a free electric toothbrush.
We have visited the dentist way more than the recommended “every six months.”
Not because we have cavities (I’m proud to report that we are a cavity-free family), not just to visit Rascal the completely adorable therapy dog, and not just to score a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, but because my sons’ baby teeth are stubborn.
Between my two sons, a total of eight baby teeth have been “lost.” Of those eight teeth, the dentist has pulled five.
Dental insurance or not, the Tooth Fairy is broke.
The boys get it honestly (genetically); the last of my baby teeth were yanked from my stubborn gums when I was in high school because my braces had to be put on.
My oldest son had his two front bottom teeth pulled by the dentist. Then he was told, “You know, I think the Tooth Fairy pays more for teeth you pull yourself!”
He yanked - literally - his top two teeth and one more on the bottom by himself; grinning, bleeding and thrilled with his (monetarily) successful efforts.
My now 7-year-old son isn’t so big on the tooth yanking. Like his brother, his two front bottom teeth had to be pulled. The adult teeth popped in behind them and his baby teeth remained securely in place.
In to the dentist we went. Rascal curled up on my son’s lap while the laughing gas and numbing meds were administered. In a matter of seconds I was holding my son’s baby teeth in a little tooth-shaped treasure chest.
He was so brave, but didn’t like the laughing gas. In fact, when his top tooth finally became loose (miracle it lasted so long after he smashed it as a toddler), he refused to wiggle it.
“No! It’s going to hurt … (long pause) … and I’m going to look silly like my brother!”
The truth came out: he thinks his older brother looks silly with no front teeth.
For several weeks his tooth moved around, bled, shifted sideways and somehow tightened up in his gums again.
He now had a snaggle-tooth and it was driving me crazy (after all, our family pictures were coming up!).
At his regular dental cleaning appointment he even refused to let the dentist pull it.
“If it’s not out when you get back from vacation, you will have to come back and let us pull it,” said the dentist. “You need to wiggle it and try to get it out.”
My son agreed, but he was lying through his teeth (tooth?). He never touched the snaggle-tooth, nor would he let anyone else. And we have family photos to prove it.
Finally, we returned to the dentist and he wiggled it free. Once my son realized his adult tooth could already be seen poking through his gum, he was fine. He won’t “look silly” for long.
He couldn’t wait to show GG (Great-Grandpa), who - as he did when I was a kid - comically showed my son how easy it is to “pull teeth” by removing his dentures.
“Wow, GG!” said my son wide-eyed.
“Can I put those under my pillow, too?”
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, July 9, 2012, 09:36 AM
Day zero has finally arrived; the countdown to P-Day is over.
P-Day, Potty Day (or Procrastinating-mom Day) has commenced (again).
I have my running shoes on. I am on my second cup of Liquid Courage (coffee). I slammed back an icing-laced brownie for breakfast.
The musical potty is batteried-up, the M&M machine is stocked, the old towels are strategically placed on the furniture, the carpet cleaner is revved-up and my toddler has selected her pair of Big Girl pants for the day (hour?).
It is go-time; literally.
Does this sound familiar? Yes. A few weeks ago I decided to start potty-training my 2-year-old daughter, but then we scheduled a family trip.
Is there anything worse than being trapped in a moving vehicle for 12 hours with three impatient kids?
Yes, there is: being trapped in a car with three kids one of whom is a newly potty-trained toddler who wants to use every public bathroom (ew!) on the highway roadside, or worse yet, who has an accident in her car-seat which permeates the entire vehicle until you can stop somewhere with a washing machine, thus giving up at least six hours of drive-time while you: tidy-up the mess (one hour), track down air freshener (30 minutes) and put the car seat back together 4.5 hours).
Although I wish I had been the one to invent it, the Travel Potty Chair is not an investment we have yet made and I’m not sure we will, but never say never.
Having - obviously - given this much thought, and having some prior experience with my sons, I became lazy and reverted back to diapers and pull-ups for my daughter.
But, this week I have no excuses. I tried to come up with one, just one … and I had some possibilities, but I just can’t put it off any longer.
Princess will start preschool this year. Preschool even makes this - the ickiest of parenting tasks (other than cleaning up vomit) - bittersweet.
She’s my baby, my youngest, my little girl and she’s going to leave me for six hours a week, wearing underwear. I hope.
One week later: Ad this task to my growing list of: Parenting Fails. This time, I blame Mother Nature and her wind blowing, power-line snapping temper. Potty training in the dark - even with a flashlight - reaches far beyond the measures of my Patience Meter.
While my daughter didn’t do poorly learning to use the potty (we haven’t entirely given up), she wasn’t exactly an over-achiever either.
It’s a good thing preschool doesn’t begin until after Labor Day, because the pile of laundry acquired over the last week and weekend will take me until at least then to finish washing.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, July 2, 2012, 10:19 AM
I am determined not to allow my kids to get “bored” or fight too much this summer (I’m laughing right along with you …).
We joined a pool and have friends with pools (thank you!); we have taken one family “trip” and have planned yet another (I’ve also thrown in a vacation, sans kids, for myself); I have purchased the necessary items - glue, cork-board, glue, stickers, glue - for a rainy day project, signed them up for vacation Bible school and picked up a schedule of events for the local library.
My kids love the library and enjoy reading, however, keeping a 2-year-old quiet while book browsing is a challenge. But I confess, I felt pretty good about my parenting skills when another toddler knocked all of the books off a shelf and climbed up on top of it while my daughter scolded him.
Score one for me!
The summer library schedule included an event called “Only Owls.” A representative from the Glen Helen Raptor Center brought three owls to the library and scores of parents - including me - brought their hot, sticky, sweaty kids to see them.
It was a packed house: standing room only.
We learned a lot about owls: not all owls hoot (if I recall correctly, a Screech Owl actually sounds like a small horse), Barn Owls are mostly white, a deceivingly large Barred Owl - at least the one at the library last week - weighs just over one pound.
My sons sat quietly, hanging on the speaker’s every word (or so I thought), while my daughter wore a path between her brothers’ spot on the floor and myself standing by the door.
The talk lasted a bit more than 30 minutes and was quite enjoyable.
“So, what did you guys learn about owls?” I asked them while walking to the car.
My 8-year-old chimed in right away about the size of their eyes and where their ears are located on their heads.
My 6-year-old remained quiet, momentarily thoughtful.
“Well, you know that cloth they put on the floor?” he said.
“Yes… (sigh)” I knew immediately where this was going. What is it with boys and bodily functions?
“Well, the little owl - the first one - his poop was white. Then the other owl, his was kind of a green color …”
“Really?” I said, exasperated. “Is that all you learned?”
He immediately shut me up with that confused, why-are-you-disappointed-look he is so good at.
Oh, well. At least he sat still and was paying attention to something.
Next up at the library: a magician with a live bunny … and hopefully a drop cloth.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, June 25, 2012, 11:20 AM
We spent all of last week on the southern coast of North Carolina. As I said before: “toes in the sand, drink in my hand.” But by weeks end it was “head in the sand, white flag in my hand.”
The rain came, as was predicted. We suffered torrential downpours - and boredom - only one day, thankfully.
My daughter’s Notorious Fever lifted and we even managed to get her into the pool and out to the sand, but she put the breaks on at the ocean’s edge.
Despite what you read, I enjoy taking trips with our family. And it’s not all bad; what is so frustrating at the moment ends up being comic relief - and a good story - later.
Mid-week, my cousin arrived with her husband and toddler daughter: a playmate for our 2-year-old.
Within hours, the girls were splashing around in the pool, wearing their swim diapers when breakfast caught up.
My cousin pulled her daughter from the pool, her swim diaper swollen with …uhh, not water, and carried her to the outside shower.
“There is no drain in here!” she called to her husband.
Not wanting to make a trail into the house or leave a mess in the shower area, a garden hose was turned on; the messy child was moved into the yard and we had another classic vacation moment that the child will never remember, but we will talk about until her wedding day.
It doesn’t matter how warm it is outside, water from a garden hose is still cold. But said toddler had a clean backside and could now return to the pool. Everyone was happy again; but not for long.
The Notorious Fever returned and this time it hit my cousin’s daughter (just FYI, germs make people sick, not being hosed off in the hot sun.)
Thursday evening, the grandparents stepped in - God bless them. After their own wild-and-crazy night came to an end (8 p.m.), they took over child care duties.
My husband and I, along with my cousins went out for a night on the town, er, tiny island.
It was a much needed break, and so much fun, but at midnight the Voice of Reason was tapping her foot and getting louder, “Your children will be awake in seven hours!”
Our night out ended at midnight (miraculously, we were all still awake).
One never knows just how smoothly things will go on a long vacation with extended family all crammed under one roof, but I have to say it went very well for us.
My daughter, who learns new words daily, but has no brain-to-mouth filter felt comfortable enough with our aunt to inform her that she was a “stinky butt.”
She saves her best compliments - and her pterodactyl screams - for those she loves most.
Although I’m not sure everyone would agree, we can’t wait to do it all over again next year (minus the Notorious Fever … and maybe the garden hose).
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, June 18, 2012, 10:27 AM
As I write this, I am beach-front: toes in the sand, drink in my hand (ok, maybe not toes in the sand. I don’t think salt water is good for a laptop).
We are vacationing (by now you know my equation: vacation+kids= “trip”) in the very place we’ve been vacationing since I was a child: Ocean Isle Beach, NC.
When I was a kid it truly was a “vacation” - swimming, sand and sun burn, eating everything in sight, crashing before the sun set and sleeping later than necessary.
Not much has changed, except now I’m the parent.
We made the drive in two days; any more than 10 minutes in the car together and my kids start picking at each other and I am ready to leave them on the roadside.
Needless-to-say, I get a lot of Motherhood material from family trips and this one is no exception (and we still have four days to go).
During the drive we watched at least 14 movies, my husband changed the radio stations like TV channels and we had some serious conversations, too.
Son 2: “Mom, what are we going to put seashells in?”
Me: “A bucket.”
Son 2: “We should have brought the throw-up bucket. It’s the biggest one we have.”
He later amended this statement to clarify that the throw-up bucket should be washed first.
When we arrived at the hotel after driving on day one, my husband left me to tend to our over-energized sons (thanks, dear) and took our daughter to pick up dinner from a bar.
Apparently, this is frowned upon; especially when your daughter is the eating orange slices intended for Blue Moon and playing on the gambling machine while waiting for her dinner.
When we finally arrived at the beach we discovered quickly that our daughter is terrified of the ocean. Terrified. Like screaming, won’t put her feet down, tantrum throwing, “NNNOOO! The water is coming! The water is coming!” terrified.
She hasn’t left the porch or, even once, let us change her into her swimsuit.
Thank goodness for the closet full of toys and games we discovered in the house; and at least I’m not worrying about her getting a sun burn.
Of course, careful not to break the Rule of Threes, our daughter also ran a fever for the first two days of our trip (ear infection+stomach flu+fever-at-the-beach = THREE. I think we’re done … with bonus points.)
Did I mention the rain? Yeah, it’s coming.
Again, I’m thankful for the toys and games in the closet, my youthful cousin who can keep up with my boys (although I’m pretty sure he’ll not have any kids of his own now. Ever.), the pantry full of cookies … and wine.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhood CTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, June 4, 2012, 01:00 AM
Every parent wants their child to do well, learn new things and move forward. But, sometimes in parenting it is two steps forward, one … no, 10 steps back.
Such is the case with my daughter whom we have been trying to wean from her pacifier for a month now.
As you may have read recently, I tried to make my 2-year-old go “cold turkey” without her binky.
After not sleeping for 48-hours, I caved in and let her have it for naps and bedtime. Then, she became very ill and had to visit the pediatrician for a series of shots. After the third day of watching them stick needles in her legs, even I wanted a binky.
Once her illness lifted, we went back to the binky at nap and bedtime only.
There are still times during the day she tries to will us with her beautiful, big, brown eyes - or screaming - into giving it to her, but I stay strong (Daddy, however, is powerless against her).
But now that she no longer has her pacifier in her mouth she has reverted back to infancy.
Just when we were reveling in the bliss that is “no more little babies” our daughter
started putting things - anything and everything - in her mouth again.
I thought my days of chasing down the boys’ stray Legos were over, but no; little Lego Ninjagos once more pose a threat to my orally fixated daughter.
Upon learning the dangers of those little coin-shaped batteries, I had to be sure to collect and dispose of all of those, too.
She has even eaten a page from her new book, ironically titled: Thumbuddy To Love: The Binky Fairy.
In all of her Girly-Princessness, she insists on having her finger and toenails painted. This was all cute and fun until I caught her with her big toe in her mouth scraping the paint off with her teeth.
Paint chips can’t be good - thankfully it was non-toxic Piggy Paint.
She has chewed up and swallowed stickers; gagged on a plastic orange from her play kitchen and even mangled a board book with her slobbery-mouth.
Life in our household was much less stressful when she had a binky; at least she wasn’t coloring her lips with marker.
And, in case you were curios: Play-Doh looks much the same coming out as going in.
I think she may be scheming to get her binky back.
“Hmmm, if I stick enough of these marbles in my mouth, maybe Mom will buckle and give me what I really want.”
Yes, maybe.
At least until I have time to rid the fridge of magnets, sort through the toys and toss out everything in the house smaller than the Princess’ fist.
It’s nerve-wracking thinking I may have missed that one tiny item she will decide to pop in her mouth, but hopefully soon she will take a few steps forward and I can begin to worry about what she’s not putting in her mouth: like vegetables.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
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By Darci Jordan
| Monday, May 28, 2012, 01:00 AM
I contemplated this week the idea of writing about the recent cover of Time magazine (you know the one); but why beat a dead horse?
I reacted exactly the way the editors of Time wanted me to: “GASP!!!” And then promptly hid the magazine from the eyes of my children so I wouldn’t have to explain why a child older than my toddler was, well, breast feeding.
My kids understand breast feeding as something a mom does to feed her baby. “Baby” being the key word here. The cover photo of Time just made it weird; but to each his, or her rather, own.
You know what they say about opinions: they are like belly-buttons, everybody has one.
Anyway, I am beating the dead horse now and I said I wouldn’t do that.
My own kids are far past the age of breast feeding. In fact, they think they are much older than they really are.
My daughter is two. She tells people she is a teenager.
“How old are you?” I asked her.
“Sixteen!” she spouted off gleefully.
“No, you are two,” I said.
“No, no,” she replied. “I seventeen.”
I just shook my head. Why argue with a teenager? They know everything.
The same day, my 8-year-old son - the oldest - asked me why he couldn’t have a facebook page.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“What? Where did that come from?” I asked.
“Well, So-and-so has one,” he said.
“Well, I’m not So-and-so’s mom; I’m yours (lucky you!), and you cannot have one. End of discussion.” I touted … and then he pouted.
It must have been something in the air on this day, because when we sat down for dinner the topic of conversation turned to girls.
My six and eight-year-old sons are talking about girls! What is going on here?
I confess, I started it by pointed out that my husbands new strands of grey - er, silver - hair make him look “hot.”
“Don’t you guys think so? Daddy looks nice, right?”
“There are four girls in my class that think I’m hot!” said my kindergartner.
Oh-no.
“Same here,” replied my second grader. “They chase me on the playground.”
My big-brown-eyed boys are quite cute, but I am biased. And I don’t want girls chasing them around, nor them chasing the girls.
I know they are getting older, but I’m just not ready for them to be quite so “grown-up.”
However, they - we - won’t be posing for any magazine photos, either.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
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